Altogether their friendship was just on this basis: Hilda always wanted her own way, and Cricket was willing she should have it; so they got on swimmingly.
Nevertheless, one day they quarrelled. It happened in this wise:
Playing charades was one of the children’s favourite amusements. At Kayuna there was a fine, large nursery, opening off the wide hall, which gave a splendid field for action, and the good-natured nurse was always ready to help them out with their plans.
One rainy Saturday the whole troop were indoors, and after luncheon charades were voted for. There were Eunice and her little friend, Edith Craig, Hilda, Cricket, the twins, Helen and Zaidee, and Kenneth.
Kenneth was a star, by the way. He was always willing to be pulled about like a rag-doll, and really seemed to enjoy it. They would roll him up for a caterpillar, and stand him up straight for a post, and sprawl him out for a spider. He would take any position they put him in, as if he were wax, and would inquire anxiously, after the scene was over, “Did I do zat all right?”
On this particular day, for some reason, none of them were quite as good-natured as usual. Perhaps they had been together rather too long, for Edith and Hilda had both arrived quite early, and had stayed to luncheon. Perhaps, also, the unusual confinement in the house made them all a little irritable.
The children usually divided themselves into actors and audience, by turns. Cricket and Hilda had the stage now, with Kenneth as support. Eunice and Edith, with the twins, therefore, were audience.
The little actors were searching their brains for a new word to act. “Penobscot,” and “connundrum,” and “goldsmith,” and “antidote” had already been used, with dozens of others.
“I know,” cried Cricket, brightening up. “Let’s take secure.”
“Secure? Well, how shall we do it?” questioned Hilda.